


Sniper in Red

by GCSiren (GoddessOfShitpost)



Category: Marvel Comics, The Punisher - All Media Types
Genre: 1950s AU, 2 parter, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, It's been a while, World War 2, agent carter references hihi, cause im lazy, cause im predictable, he's an american sniper, you're a soviet sniper, you're both decorated soldiers, you're both war veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfShitpost/pseuds/GCSiren
Summary: You were a woman, an accomplished sniper and very famous in both America and the Soviet Union. People were sexist, and really hated communists. One man made you stay.Frank Castle was a decorated sniper with an unrivaled body count (at least in America), he's always in an alcohol binge wasting his life away. He didn't know what the fuck he was doing. One woman kicked his ass and suddenly he did.





	1. "It's a date, then."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asnanana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asnanana/gifts).



> yo shoutout 2 my girl love her all the time thanks for being supportive hope u write soon cause you're great
> 
> also........not yet proofread :( love that for me

1941, Soviet Russia. You were 25 years old and your name was of no concern to anyone but your mother. As far as you could remember-- in the moments where you were surrounded by the coldness of snow and the heat of gunfire simultaneously-- you had only thing in mind: Don't miss. Facism is a curse, a disease, and it would be your absolute pleasure to pump that Fuhrer's head full of lead. 

You managed to kill 203 Nazis during Unternehmen Barbarossa, the name the Germans so affectionately called it. You were one of the finest snipers the Union had ever seen, and they were quick to recognize you for it. You were awarded plentifully, and soon enough America took notice. You knew it in your heart, along with most of the government and your friends in the army that the only reason America and the Soviet Union weren't already fighting during Hitler's reign was because of the saying 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'. Your suspicions were very much confirmed when you went to America (very reluctantly) to get interviewed and patronized. It was a wonder to them. A woman being a successful force in the military? Crazy. Lunacy, to them. It was less than charming, having to endure the very badly masked sexism and anti-communism. Of course, you were a communist, and yet they still invited you. All the same, they treated you less. Like a stray dog only being allowed anywhere near the child because of its innocent curiosity.

It was an unpleasant shock to everybody when you decided to stay anyway. Even to you. There was only one person you owe this previously unseen outcome to, though.

December 14, 1947

Frank Castle, the single veteran that he was, would be regularly found in the bar from 7 to 11PM. You've been to that pub a few times, eyeing him with a morbid fascination. He was battered and beaten, and walked with such an intimidating aura that if you weren't such a hardened soldier yourself, you'd know to stay well away. His bruises were fresh, even with the war ending 2 years ago. Obviously, he still finds fights to fight. He was a decorated veteran like yourself, but he wasn't quite as high-profile. You don't know what staved you off. Maybe it was the fact that in your 27 years of life, you had never had a...male partner. 

Jesus, you've met Captain America. You've jokingly flirted with Peggy Carter. You've outdrank Howard Stark. What is wrong with you?

Thankfully, he seemed to be just as interested with you as you were with him.

L&L Automat Diner was a busy place. You wouldn't question him for walking in because he saw you, right? You wouldn't see him? Aw fuck it, just do it, Castle. 

"Hey," 

You looked up from your coffee and the morning papers, the very deep, rough voice fully capturing your attention. It was a shock to see the same veteran you've been staring at for the longest time now, talking to you.

Okay, Castle, she obviously will find out how you literally only walked in to start a conversation.

"I-- You're, ehm, you're that Russian sniper, right? The one with all the medals." He asks, stiffly. Chuckling, you replied: "And you're the American sniper with the highest body count from your side of the world, with the Medal of Honor, am I correct?" He was quiet. Neither you or him realized no one had ever really pointed that out to him before, well, aside from the President who awarded it to him. You noticed he had not sat during the silence. "Please, sit." You gestured to the other cyan seat and he followed. "You should not speak of me in such high regard, Corporal. We are both soldiers." He shuffles in his position before answering. "I wasn't denying anything. Also, both snipers, actually." You notice just how large he actually is up close, before recognizing the statement. "Two snipers living domestically now, I suppose?" Your food came in just as you said it, and you smiled a bit at that. The woman also gave him his coffee. He took it straight, and probably still piping hot. "I don't see how alcoholism is domestic, but I guess compared to the war, it's alright." His eyes sparkled at the mention of the war, nostalgia seeping in. Chaos ruined minds like that. 

Although, it's not like you couldn't relate.

You hated the attention in America, but it felt good being recognized among your fellow Soviets. You ate for a little bit, letting the silence take over the conversation for a bit.

"Why the sudden greeting, if I may ask?" 

Ah, the question he dreaded so much. "Dunno...I felt like it."

You smiled at the lie. He disregarded his own deceitfulness, like he was used to it. "You've seen me around, haven't you?" You decided to shoot. "And so have you." He was quick to reply. Your smile fell. "I've caught you staring." 

Suddenly, you were hyperaware with your lack of knowledge about men.

He seemed to sense this. "It's alright. It's nice to have someone stare at me not because they wanted to take a few licks or something-- see if they could handle me." Hah. Don't flatter yourself. "Don't flatter yourself." Hold on, did you just say that out loud? He smirked. 'Fuck me, goddamnit.' "So, you think you could take me?" His tone was playful, but it still offended you. "Honestly, I've killed men far larger. In groups." Bit of an exaggeration, but you felt that you could take him. "You wanna bet on it?" He stood up, about to leave. He was also showing just how massive a unit he was, because he was big. Big-big. Snipers were meant to be hidden, but it was hard to imagine a man as large as him being camouflaged in any way. Maybe the Nazis thought he was just a boulder or something? Whatever it was, his kill count wasn't something to joke about. 

"You asking to spar, Corporal?" You raised an eyebrow, excited for what's to come. Finally, something really interesting. "I'm looking to win, sweetheart." 

You're not American, so it might be that, but pure, actual rage sprouted from hearing the nickname.

It was his intention. "Name a time and place." Your tone twisted from casual and cool to actual daggers. 

He took a napkin and jotted down his address, leaving it on the table. "It's a date then." He walked off and paid for your food before leaving.

You were too pissed to even process either of those things.


	2. Charmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing is just sparring but not at all, actually. Neither of you know what you are doing.

The next day at 10AM sharp, you were there, standing in front of his apartment door. It wasn't an overly rich neighbourhood, but it was alright. You rang the doorbell.

When he answered, you noted how he looked cleaner than usual. He smelled of soap and his hair was damp. Is it weird to notice that? You don't waste time thinking too much about it the moment he let you in. His house was a little sparse, and in the center of the room was not a sofa and a TV but a makeshift training area. Other than that, he didn't have much furniture. He had a radio, and past the first room, you couldn't see much in the dining area or kitchen either. It was messy too, and several empty beer bottles were scattered around. It was sort of intimate, being in here.

"Hey, I had to change." He suddenly spoke, coming out from somewhere beyond uncharted territory. He wore really short shorts and a white wifebeater, his wrapped hands tossing you the roll of the gauze he used. You didn't get the shorts, but it was an American thing. At least, he looked good in it. Others, not so much. You finish wrapping your own hands and shed your coat. You wore high-waisted pair of shorts and a tight-fitting cotton top. The shorts were a little stiff for fighting, but women's fashion here isn't supposed to be used for sparring anyway. The sleeveless top was from Russia-- the same shirt you wore under your uniform. It was red, with the yellow outline of a star over your left breast. Of course, your hair was up in a ponytail. "You ready?" He walked over to where the mat was placed, speaking as he stretched. "Always." You smiled, following him.

"You know, it's custom to have the men in America take off the women's coats before coming in." He says, out of the blue, before getting into his stance. "Do not try and distract me, Castle." He doesn't reply.

Don't miss.

An hour passed and at that point, you had gotten him pinned down first and after, he did the same to you. You were still fighting. You, testing to see just how long he could last, and he, eager to find out just how skillful you were not behind a gun. He was a sniper too, but he had a secret affection for fighting fist-to-face. 

Turns out, his stamina wasn't something to joke about, and your talents were not so confined. 

He pinned you down for the last time, and for the first time, you heard how heavily you two panted. Your top was drenched in sweat, and his face glistened under the dim lights. "So we're done?" He asked, barely just saying it without pausing every syllable to breathe. 

You flipped over the positions, now your forearms had him under you. "Now we are." You grinned, and he laughed. His body was too tired to retort.

 

"You're good." He finally talked, before going back to chug at his water jug. You both sat in a small bench, both desperately clutching their own waters. "You're strong." You don't know what you expected from that tank of a man. "And uh, you got a spare shirt? I didn't really.." You trailed off, once again wondering if it was strange for you to ask. You really needed to pay attention to the magazines more. Maybe they'd be a little worthwhile to look at. "Yeah, sure. Just," He swiped at his nose and stood up. "Follow me."

His bedroom was tidy compared to the rest of his apartment. There was a now cold cup of coffee on the dresser, and a few guns left in the middle of cleaning on a table. He wasn't using them, but you thought maybe that's why he was at least maintaining them. The area was pretty spacious. He handed you a medium-sized white shirt, making you imagine what he'd look like in it with a leather jacket. It was pretty small for a man of his stature, it must've fit quite well on him. By well, you thought tight. 

On you, though, it was still too big. Everything involving his largeness made you feel smaller than you really are. It irritated you. To him, it was the opposite.

You walked out of the bathroom, struggling to tuck in the shirt in your shorts to at least look mildly presentable. Frank took notice quicker, and honest to god, smiled. "You look alright. Don't fuss about it." He commented, but his expression betrayed it. "I don't like looking or feeling lanky, Frank." You continued to smooth over places where couldn't be any smoother. "From what you wore earlier, sweetheart, you sure didn't look like it." His eyes travelled over your entire form, and before your mind could solely focus on the nickname once again, you fixated on the way he looked at you. 

Is he flirting with you?

Hold on, did he say something about a date before?

Suddenly, the heat that left you from showering all came back at once, making itself known on your face. You didn't blush much. It was probably covered by soot, gunpowder or snow even if you did. It made you nervous, but something else made it feel pleasant at the same time. 

"I...hmm." Your attempt at a retort was very disappointing, and he rubbed it on your face by laughing softly. "May I ask you a question, Frank?" Okay, shoot. Let's play. This couldn't be that hard, right? You sat next to him on the bed, finally letting your hair down in the process. He stared at you, following your every move. "What is your intention here?" The volume of your voice became dangerously low, and still, you didn't know what you were doing.

He seemed to be enchanted by it at first...until he starting to laugh once again. "Leave the flirting to me, sweetheart."

You could punch him. You could punch him! Don't punch him. Best not to punch him.

You huffed quietly and stood up. Frustration was something you ignored until now. "Wait, wait.." He called out after you, but you didn't turn. You did stop, however. "If you really wanna find out. Meet me at the restaurant uptown later at 7. The one with all the lights. Dress nicely."

You really wanna say you didn't turn redder as you left his apartment. You really didn't, but you don't like lying...and you did. 

December 15, 1947

Frank wondered if the instructions he gave were too vague. He also wondered if going on a date was a good decision. There was no reason otherwise for it not to be, but still, he hadn't really met any women that interested him anymore. He's only been with a couple of women in his life (that he took seriously) and they've all been embarassingly short relationships. 

He didn't feel quite jittery, but he questioned whether or not he would be a good partner. Thoughts popped up on his head faster than he could process any of them, and it irked him.

You-- You were a sight to behold though.

You wore a red evening dress, draping below your knees and it was strange to see you in such a typical feminine silhouette. Frank soon found that wasn't at all just a simple case though, because as his vision travelled upwards, parts tightened. Your waist was enhanced with the cinching of most formal gowns, but even more above that were drooped sleeves showing off your collar bones. You managed to show so much skin without not showing much at all.

That, or it was just his wild imagination.

You heard your name called and saw a familiar hand wave at you.

He looked nice. You didn't know how to describe it. More clean, you suppose. He's always looked good though, and maybe you just liked your men a little rugged.

"You found the place." He stood and walked to the other side of the table to pull back the chair for you. You sat down, as graciously as you could. You didn't really know how you quite felt about that custom of theirs. "It wasn't all too hard to miss, after all." You smiled, almost shyly, at him. A waiter came and poured red wine into both of your glasses. After taking a sip, you spoke again "I did not take you for someone who likes lavish restaurants, Frank." He watched you eye the place curiously. "I thought you might like it, actually." He wonders if this was a mistake. He really was not one for dates. The only place his been on dates were that trashy little diner downtown near his old family neighborhood and this restaurant he took Karen on ages ago. He did not want to disappoint you. You smirked at his attempt. "Well, it's better than the rations out in the cold." You two shared a laugh, and you resumed looking at the glistening golden everything in the place. "Maybe I," Frank started, but for some reason couldn't quite finish his sentence. You immediately turned your head back to him, though. "Maybe I just wanted to see you in that dress."

The statement started slow, but it definitely had its effects. 

Your cheeks turned a bright pink that complimented the crimson of your lips. "I do not look all that good, Frank. You exaggerate." You turned away again, but this time purely because of embarassment. "I don't kiss ass, sweetheart." 

You still hated that nickname, but it's started to grow on you. 

"Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the surprise performance of a lifetime!" An anouncer from a previously neglected stage nearly yelled onto the mic. Both of you were forced out of staring into each other's eyes and to the finely but very glitterry decorated centerpiece. The floor around it was cleared of tables and chairs. "Tonight, folks. We are joined by no other than the talented, magical and world-renowned Miss Dazzler!"

Neither of you would admit it, but Dazzler made good songs.

So you two did what any badass in denial would do, just eat and tap your feet to the beat of her songs. 

It was a good dinner. The food was delicious, the room was energetic and Frank couldn't help but steal glances at you. Stealing was not a good thing, and he was a man that was most always a hardass. When it came to you though, his equal (hell, maybe even his superior), he felt that he had no other choice. 

You, on the other hand, were fighting the urge to just get up and dance. You don't know what it was about Dazzler, but that girl had other talents besides singing. A slow song came on, with a performance that wasn't as flashy as the others. The ambience calmed and some couples stood up to dance. He even thought he spotted Peggy Carter with a stranger from across the room, and everyone knew how she was only eager to dance with a few selected people. You hummed to the song, stopping yourself from whispering the lyrics, and Frank noticed.

"Uh, you..You wanna dance?"

You did not know how to respond-- you knew you did, but not the words for it. So you stood up, took his hand and that was your way.

Frank definitely thought it was a little unconventional, but he wasn't such a disciplined dancer himself to complain. 

"You came, you saw, you conquered me..." Frank heard you murmur along. You two still danced a little stiffly, awkward around each other's touch. It's like every sense of his focused only on the hand that was holding his and the other that was on his shoulder. He did not know how his feet still moved. 

You leaned your head in against his chest, experimentally. He did not expect himself to calm, but he did. 

"You're alright, Frank." He heard you say. It was an understatement, but it was true. "And there's nothing you could be bad at." He replied immediately. That was a lie. You danced not..well, but he probably didn't know any better. You only laughed in response.

 

It was right before midnight when you two decided you were finished. Most of the people there had gone home, but both of you decided to just wallow in each other's company outside. 

New York was definitely quieter during these late hours, and in that silence, you discovered its charm. The lights dazzled you as they reflected on the wet pavement. Frank walked right beside you, adorably close. "Are you staying?" He's been anxious to ask it. A girl like you couldn't've liked America.

You were quiet for a while. He's already accepted that the odds were against him. He uncharacteristically let out a sigh that he then played off as a normal exhale. You stared at him. "You're a charmer, you know that?"

No, he didn't actually. All he knew that he had an ugly mug and an intimidating stature.

You saw how he scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. He turned to you, and for some reason you had decided to completely spoil yourself for the night. You closed the space between you, cautiously, reluctantly. Before you knew it, he made the first move and kissed you.

He and you were glad that he made the first move. 

It was a chaste kiss, but it was sweet. When you broke apart, you felt a little lightheaded. He was flushing.

"Maybe I will stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


End file.
